A Dedication
by sinisterkid92
Summary: It's been over a year, and he writes a dedication to her in his book. He almost expects her to call, to chide him for disrespecting boundaries. AU start season 4.


**Title: **A Dedication

**Summary**: It's been over a year, and he writes a dedication to her in his book. He almost expects her to call, to chide him for disrespecting boundaries. AU start season 4.

**A/n:** I **am** writing the 3rd chapter of Saving Mr. Rodgers, this was just a story which demanded to be written, and wouldn't leave me alone and let me write SMR until it was written. If you're waiting for that update… it might be a while now because I am behind on school work due to a massive cold. Should be up sometime next week though! Cheers!

**A/N 2 (edit): **due to two reviews on this story I want to give you readers a "_warning" _for upsetting content. I have labled this angst for a reason, and I fully utilize the concept of what angst is. If you do not like stories to make you sad, don't read this.

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><p>She would disapprove. That much is certain, but it doesn't stop Castle anyway. With Alexis' high school graduation around the corner he felt that some change was needed. It had been 10 months since the shooting, and he missed her face terribly. This had to be done.<p>

He dedicated the book to her. He could hear her chiding him in his head about the breach of boundaries, and that he should respect her need for space. The last time he'd seen her she'd been in that hospital bed asking him to give her a while. Let her take the first step. She'd call him. It's been 10 months, and he really needed something to happen. To break.

Which is why he dedicated it to her. It was over the top, and Martha would have stepped in, as would Alexis, had they the heart to do so. Both of them understood that this was needed. A dedication to Kathrine Beckett was a part of the process. It followed with a quote, taken from Johanna Beckett's headstone, a saying which had driven Beckett her entire life – Vincit Omnia Veritas. Truth conquers all. It's something that he felt was fitting, something he believed that Beckett would appreciate, after chiding him.

Her name was forever immortalized. It was not just a blurb, her name and a quote. He wrote about her too. It was a definite breach of boundaries. An author doesn't write a page long dedication to a woman who said she needed time – but it had been 10 months. There was no use in pretending anymore.

Which is why he did it.

He half expected her to call. Kept checking his phone to see her face and name pop-up on the screen, forgetting that he had a new phone, and he didn't have her number in it anymore. Nor her picture. Distance required distance. After a while, he needed it too.

Despite it all he was angry with her. It was unfair, but he was furious. Alexis graduated, and there was no card from her, nothing to congratulate his little girl, which her good luck in this world. He scanned the cards – knowing that none of them would be from Beckett – finding himself torn apart by the anger and confusion he felt. It was supposed to be a great day, yet through the pride and happiness he felt towards his daughter's success, he was torn up.

When 11 months pass, that was the time to start questioning things. Time to start thinking about reality the way it really was.

Esposito and Ryan where there, even Lanie showed up. Their appearances were brief, handing over small gifts and trading wellness wishes, each passing Castle with a pat on the shoulder and small smiles. None of them could explain Beckett's absence, and none of the wanted to try. When Esposito draped an arm across Lanie's shoulders it was something he could feel happiness over, knowing that the two of them had found each other in the mess of everything which had been created over the past 11 months.

He would count the days too (11 months and 6½ days), but he feared that would make him look a bit obsessive. With everything else it was enough without being obsessive, too. For Alexis, for his mother, he needed to not be obsessive. Instead he needed to be a son, a father, and a writer. For them he needed to find a way to move on.

Life had settled into a strange routine without her. After three years with her, and only a few months of absences, it was not easily found. There were many stories which she had inspired, his imagination could run wild with everything they had experienced together, everything he'd seen her solve, defeat. Summer Heat had been a therapeutic book to write, it was different from his earlier works. Yet as he tried to write the next book in the series he found himself lost for words, lost in memories of her.

If he could he would pick up the phone and call her, but there were boundaries that he could breach. She said she needed space, so he was giving space. Despite his mother nudging him to go see her he remained stubborn. Space. They both required space.

Alexis and Martha left for Europe, spending a month traveling through the cities, exploring a culture different from New York. By the end of July he intended to follow them, and meet up with them in Paris. He had planned walks with his daughter, full day walks which would make their feet ache, but minds full. They would walk from Bastille to Pont des Arts, and then to Invalides and take a short-cut through the neighborhoods to the Eiffel Tower. After that they would take the metro to Champs Elysees near their hotel. He had it planned, all the details. Planned the awes at the view from the bridges, to the insistence that they walk up to the first etage of the Eiffel Tower, and then fake a sulk when Alexis would insist on the elevator up. He planned the crêpes he would buy, the picnic they would pull together and eat on the trimmed grass of Champ de Mars.

Everything to stop himself from thinking for even a second about her when all he should be thinking about was Alexis. His grown up 18 year old daughter with a smile that made her look much older. He hated how this last year had affected her. It was never his intention to take it out on her, but he could not stop the overpowering grief that the absence of Kathrine Beckett had caused. He blanched at the thought of her name. He was far from ready deal with her, which was why he needed desperately to avoid her. Avoid the thought of her, the memories of her, and the places where they had been together.

He did all of what he planned with Alexis. Martha had joined up with them at the bridge, but as soon as she saw the metro by Invalides she dropped off and didn't join up with them until dinner that night. It was what the father and daughter duo needed – time together alone, as normal as they could be. She would start college at Stanford soon, the date to sign up for classes was all too soon for his liking. By the end of the summer the two of them would be at opposite ends of the country. Castle feared that he had driven his daughter away, and he hated himself for it. There had been many times in his life as a father that he had doubted himself, but he had never felt quite as terrible at the job as he did now. The last year of Alexis' childhood had been throw away by his inability to cope.

It was unfair, the burden that he had given his daughter. Castle knew he would spend the rest of his life making up for this.

Castle did not want the summer trip to end, but it did. He did not want the summer to end, but it did. He watched his daughter pack up her things, and into the car they had rented. As one last thing they did before parting she had promised her father she'd let him drive her there. It would take three days to get there, and he planned to make every minute of it. He made a mix tap, on his phone, loaded his iPad full with movies that they could watch at night at the hotels they stayed at, filled up his car with snacks he knew she loved, planned games that they could play.

It was the best three days in a long time. Days he would store under "best memories" and cherish for the rest of his life. By the time they arrived to Stanford he was crying, unabashedly, not quite ready to not be a fulltime parent anymore. 18 years of constantly taking care of his child, of always having that child close by, meant that letting go was something he would never be prepared for. New York would be lonely without his daughter, it would be too cold and unfriendly. He had his mother, but his mother had a very different life. At times they were two ships passing in the night, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with having only that.

Summer Heat hit the stands in late August, followed by an ambivalent response, yet raging reviews. Unexpectedly emotional, and pulling at your heartstrings were phrases commonly found in reviews. His personal favorite when he was in a sardonic mood was: "Richard Castle shows unexpected emotional depth in his new book Summer Heat, unprecedented in his previous works. Who knew the author, who is famous for his easy to swallow works, could bring tears to the even the toughest of reviewers?"

He read the dedication to her over and over again, glancing at his phone. He expected her to call, almost, but it's never her who calls him. A week after the book hit the stands he knew she would have gotten to it, read it, if she wanted to. He knew she was a fan, even if she didn't want to admit it. Sometimes he would imagine her at 20 hunched over one of his books. He wished he knew what she thought about them then, how she reacted to what he had written. He would never know.

That's when he caved in and called her. It had been 15 months, and that was too long without hearing her voice. Despite not having her number programmed into his phone he knew it by heart. The past year he'd spent punching it in, and then chickening out. It did not even ring before a robotic voice informed him that the number he had dialed was not in service anymore. He hung up.

He called her once a week after that, hoping that it had been a mistake, and that he'd hear her voice pick up on the other end. It took two months, and then someone answered. It was a young boy, confused as to why a strange man was calling him on his new phone. After apologizing profusely, explaining that this was a friend's old number to stop the boy from putting his mother on the line, he hung up with his heart in his throat.

Kate Beckett was not on the other end of that number anymore.

There would only one way to be close to her now. After 18 months he caved in, decided to go see her – boundaries be damned. He took the cab there, but circled the block two times before walking inside. The scenery was incredible, despite it being in New York. He had been here before a few times, far more than he would have liked. The last time he was there was 18 months ago. It was far too long ago. This was Kate Beckett.

He found her easily, his legs taking him there by their own accord. Next to her mother all that is visible and left for the world to see was the headstone.

_In Memory of Kathrine Houghton Beckett who lived and died for the justice of those who could not speak. Forever loved, forever missed. Vincit Omnia Veritas. December 17 1979 – June 3 2011 _

They had buried her little over a week after Captain Montgomery's funeral. The security had been maximized, security surrounding the graveyard. Yet he knew, as did Esposito, Ryan and Lanie, that the danger was over for them. Whoever was responsible thought that the fight died with Beckett, but it didn't. Occasionally Ryan would send an update on the case, which was disappointingly seldom, and it rarely contained any new information. He had his own murder board back at the apartment. In the beginning he had worked on it relentlessly, forgoing sleep and food to seek justice for the murder of the person he loved, loves, yet after a while he could not bear to look at it anymore. He could not bear to look at her face, at her faith. He could not bear to face that she was dead.

When she had woken up after the surgery it all appeared as if she was fine, that she would recover. She had been sitting up, and she had been talking. It was only two hours after he had seen her, had been told to give her space, that she had lost consciousness. A blood clot caused by the surgery had dislodged itself and caused a stroke. Her heart kept beating, but she would never wake up. They said she was brain dead. It wasn't the bullet that ultimately killed her, it was her own body.

He hadn't brought her flowers. It was December, and they would've died too quickly in the cold weather. The visit to her grave was spontaneous, he had not known he'd end up here when he woke up this morning. There were flowers on her grave, not wilted. Someone must have visited her earlier that day. The grave also had a lantern with a burning candle inside of it. He had not been here since her funeral, but someone else had visited her. Beckett hadn't been left alone in all this time.

"I know you wanted space, and I've been trying to give you that… but Kate, I love you," he said. There was no response – the wind did not pick up or slow down, there was no rustle in the trees, a croon of a sparrow, no horn honking in the distance. "I just wanted you to know that, in case you still do not remember."

He stood there for a while, silently regarding her final resting place. How the world kept turning without Kathrine Beckett in it was a mystery to him, and yet it did. He knew life would have been an incredible adventure with her, maybe one day they would have finally ended up together, who knew? Yet now all he could do was close his eyes as he touched the headstone, hoping that there was an afterlife where she could feel the love he felt for her. Then, all he could do was walk away, book a ticket to California and visit his daughter for the weekend. That's what he could do.


End file.
